


Tonsillitis

by Comicbooklovergreen



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, based on a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 14:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicbooklovergreen/pseuds/Comicbooklovergreen
Summary: Therese's less than perfect childhood leaves her in need of surgery as an adult. Carol is determined to take care of her very reluctant patient.





	Tonsillitis

**Author's Note:**

> Transplant from my blog, based on a prompt.

It started with a sore throat.

Then another.

Then another.

Then strep throat, and then breathing problems. That was where Carol drew the line.

Therese argued that a tonsillectomy was a child’s surgery, more suited for Rindy than her.

“Rindy’s not sick every month.”

“Neither am I.”

“No. Sometimes you’re sick twice a month. Or more.”

“It’s for children.”

“It’s for people who need it. Which you probably did as a child.”

Therese half-heartedly argued that her mother hadn’t had the money, pointed out that the orphanage didn’t call in doctors unless it was deadly serious.

“You can’t breathe. It’s serious.”

“I can too breathe,” Therese said, then instantly wondered why she’d said it like that. What better way to sound like a child, in need of a child’s surgery?

Carol said that she slept next to Therese at night, and that no, she couldn’t breathe.

Therese said she couldn’t afford it, being laid up for at least a week. She’d lose her job.

“You’ll be resting longer than a week,” Carol said definitively. “And you’re just as likely to lose your job if you keep having to call in sick all the time.”

They argued about money. Carol waved that away like a piece of lint on her favorite coat. “We have the money. If we didn’t, we’d get it.”

Like your mother should’ve. Therese heard the protectiveness, the silent condemnation.

“This is about your health, Therese. Nothing else matters.”

Her job mattered, and they argued more about that, about Carol’s intention to leave the shop in Abby’s hands for the duration of Therese’s recovery. Recovery from an operation she hadn’t agreed to.

Eventually Carol struck a low blow. Gently, and with careful words, she brought up Rindy and how her visits were affected by Therese’s sickness. How Rindy worried for her and missed out on time with her.

And Carol. Carol missed out on Rindy because she took care of Therese. It wasn’t said aloud. Carol would never say it, perhaps never even think it, but Therese would.

Therese had cried then and said Carol wasn’t obligated to take care of her, she wasn’t there to be a burden, and other things along the same lines.

She was having a tantrum and behaving like a child, and she couldn’t stop herself.

But Carol had only held her and hushed her, used quiet words. “I _want_ to take care of you, don’t you see? That’s why I want you to do this. Please, angel?”

She’d learned to say no to Carol. She really could do it. Except when she couldn’t.

Carol found out soon enough about her embarrassing, almost paralyzing fear of doctors. She’d avoided them most of her life much more easily than most because she’d been discouraged from going. Carol begged, bribed, promised, cajoled. Made her keep the appointment she tried very hard to reschedule.

She’d never been put under before. The doctor stressed what a routine surgery this was. He also said there would always be a risk.

“You’re going to be just fine,” Carol promised as Therese lay sleepless in bed the night before.

Carol held her close and Therese heard Carol’s calm, even heartbeat, a contrast to her own.  “What if I’m not?”

Carol kissed her, soft and lingering. “You will be. I’ll be with you when you wake up, and we’ll get you home and safe. And then you’ll eat every kind of ice cream there is and Rindy will be horribly jealous.”

Therese laughed, ashamed of how much she felt like crying. She held Carol tighter.

Carol was as good as her word. She was waiting when Therese woke up. That provided a few blessed seconds of relief, Carol promising her that she’d done well, that everything was fine, how brave she’d been, how proud Carol was.

“I love you. I love you, you’re okay. We’ll be home soon.”

The pain was ridiculous. They gave her liquid medication, but it seemed useless. If anything it made things worse, stung the wounds at the back of her throat. Swallowing hurt. There was ice cream and pudding and cold soups. It all hurt. Therese lost weight, weight Carol fretted about and said she didn’t have to lose, couldn’t afford to lose.

“But it hurts,” Therese said feeling utterly pathetic. She was in their bed, where she spent the better part of her days lately. “It _hurts_ , Carol!”

Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.

“I know,” Carol said, joining her on the mattress and pulling her close. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, darling.”

Therese wanted to lash out, blame Carol. She wouldn’t have done this if not for Carol. A few sore throats were nothing compared to this.

Except Carol was holding her and waiting on her and just _caring_ in a way no one ever had. She gripped Carol’s shirt and cried into it, and Carol hushed her without making her feel ashamed, making her feel like she had to stop crying.

Carol tried to be understanding about food, but she warned Therese about dehydration all the time and sat with her until she’d had what Carol deemed to be enough liquid. Therese told her again that it hurt. Carol said that she knew and that she was sorry. And then she made Therese drink more.

After a few days Therese attempted to get Carol back to work.

“Abby needs you.”

“She doesn’t. You do.”

“The shop—”

“Abby is perfectly capable of covering the shop. She’d be insulted at anyone thinking otherwise. And I’ve been threatened with bodily harm if I let your big doe eyes trick me into stepping back through that door any time soon.”

“Big doe eyes?” Therese repeated, though it hurt to talk.

“Her words, not mine. Have some more water.”

Rindy came on the weekend, carrying a hand-drawn get well card with a collection of flowers, animals and clouds. There was a method to the madness, which Therese quite liked having explained. Rindy frowned and whined over her melting, mostly uneaten ice cream. Carol devised a game. Rindy could share the treat she was eyeing so hungrily, have it for dinner even, just this once. For every bite Rindy took, Therese had to take one as well.

Rindy got most of the ice cream, took much bigger bites. She got dessert for dinner and dinner snuggled up next to Therese. Therese got to enjoy Rindy’s reaction to all this.

At least smiling didn’t hurt.

The card was given a place of honor on the nightstand. Rindy sulked a bit over Therese’s inability to read her her bedtime stories.

“Why don’t you and  I read to Aunt Therese?” Carol asked.

Rindy stared with wide eyes at this new idea, then dashed off for a book.

Rindy did most of the reading, with only occasional help from Carol. Mostly Carol sat quietly between Rindy and Therese, stroking Therese’s hair and kissing it between pages.

It still hurt beyond belief, but this part didn’t. The tears Therese cried now were fueled by something entirely different.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr. Hit me up with prompts or just stop in to say hi.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/


End file.
